Even the Brave May Depend on Someone
by ZoraMalfoy
Summary: When Cissnei gets a knock on her door after midnight, the person waiting for her is not who she expects. Zack Fair stands on her doorstep looking like a fragment of himself. Hurt/Comfort. Friendship. Title from "Walk You Home" by Karmina


So, I haven't posted in...years. I haven't been writing much fanfiction either, but I was going through some old files on my computer and found a few little gems that I thought I'd polish up and share. My writing is a little rusty, but most of this one was done a long time ago, just needed some editing. The title is from the song "Walk You Home" by Karmina. It was the original inspiration for the story.

* * *

 **Even the Brave May Depend on Someone**

With trembling hands, I slide my keycard through the reader. There is a faint beep before I turn the door handle and walk inside, my hand immediately seeking the light switch.

My quarters are empty. Normally, I wouldn't expect anyone to be here, but after a day like today, I expect the unexpected. If someone had intruded into my personal space, it would be a sure sign that he or she had an early death wish. Or that they're completely oblivious to how Shinra operates. The Turk floor would be the last floor newcomers would want to find themselves located.

Lucky for them, no one bothered to break into my quarters tonight. I am in a foul enough mood to strike before asking questions.

Not a sound is audible in the rest of the room as I toss my blazer onto the back of a chair and head for the kitchen. I reach inside one of the near-empty cabinets and remove a clean glass, setting it on the counter with an overzealous _clink,_ an unambiguous indicator of how today proceeded _._ A simple mission somehow managed to get a bit messier than I had anticipated. It was the sort of mistake that anyone skilled enough to become a Turk should have foreseen long before it happened. It was nothing more than a moment of sheer foolishness. There was no one to blame but myself.

The good thing was no one got hurt—well, no one aside from those who were supposed to get hurt, I presume. My job was to search for the targets and destroy them. The simplicity of it was enough to lull me into a state of ease. It was nothing that I had not done before. I dropped my guard one moment too soon and wound up in a trap. Fighting my way out of it proved to be much more problematic. Because of this faux pas I'm arriving back at my quarters well after midnight.

A loud, unsteady pounding interrupts my thoughts and I instinctively reach for Rekka. I can feel every muscle habitually recoiling, preparing to take out whatever comes at me. I may yet find a target to relieve my frustrations on, though part of me would rather just crawl under the covers and forget today ever happened.

Despite my moment of hesitation, the pounding continues. Who would come to my quarters at this hour? I pause for a moment longer hoping that whomever it is will take the hint and leave. The beating continues, however. It lacks all rhythm, almost as though whoever it is is drunk or cannot dance to save their life. Or both.

It's probably Reno.

He'd better make certain Rude has a Phoenix Down ready.

My hand is still grasping my shuriken and ready to strike, as I open the door and stare in stunned silence. Reno doesn't have a death wish after all.

It's Zack Fair.

He stumbles inside without even asking if he can come in. I am too stunned at the sight of him to prevent him from entering. His hair looks less like the well-maintained array of perfect spikes it usually is and more like, well, a mess. The bandage wrapped around his arm draws my attention as he heads toward my couch without saying a word. There is a definite limp in his step.

I can already feel some of my agitation draining away.

After unceremoniously throwing himself onto my couch, he perches himself on the edge of it, his eyes dashing around the room like a frightened chocobo. Small cuts decorate his face and forearms. Something terrible happened.

When he fails to say anything, I ask, "Can I get you something to drink?" I am at a loss of what else to say, so the instinctive good host routine takes over – though I haven't had guests in my home in ages. I can no longer count Reno and Rude, or even Tseng, as guests. Reno walks in and raids the fridge like he lives here, complaining about the lack of alcoholic beverages every time, and Tseng has been known to enter without even asking. I really wish he did not have a master set of keys. It is one of the downsides to having a residence where I'm also employed. As for Rude? Rude is just Rude. Wherever Reno goes, Rude is invariably behind him, waiting to pick up the pieces of whatever chaos he manages to cause.

Zack doesn't answer my question, so I take it as a yes, and go grab a second glass. How the hell did he manage to get here anyway? SOLDIERS aren't allowed on the Turk floor. He should not have even been able to find my room.

My PHS rings and I answer it. Before I can say anything, a voice says, "He get there okay, Ciss'?"

Reno. I should have known. Maybe he still has that death wish after all, though I suspect Tseng would want the first shot this time. Allowing a SOLDIER on the Turk floor is certainly not company protocol. Too many secrets are embedded in these walls for unsuspecting visitors to discover.

"Why did you let him up here?" I can't help but sigh at the situation he has gotten me into tonight.

"Looked like he needed some help."

I glance back at the broken SOLDIER sitting on my couch. That had to be the understatement of the year.

He looks so broken. He does not look at all like the puppy I am so accustomed to him being. Physically drained. Emotionally shot. A shell of who he is wandered into my quarters tonight.

My brows furrow together and my lips curl downward in a concerned frown. "Thanks, Reno. I've got this one covered."

"You know where I'm at if ya need me."

"Got it. I'll see you in the morning."

"Night, Ciss.'"

"Good night." There's a faint click over the line as he hangs up. I set my PHS onto the countertop before filling the two glasses with water and making my way back to where the puppy sits, staring at the ground at his feet.

I offer him the drink but when he fails to accept it, I press it into his hand, forcing him to take it. I'm not even sure he knows I'm here anymore. He just stares at my worn grey carpeting enveloped in a place only he understands—or perhaps he doesn't. The mind can be a mystery sometimes.

I sit down across from him and take a slow sip of my drink, its cold pureness washing over my tongue and quenching my parched throat. There is nothing for me to say right now. He has to be the one to initiate the conversation. I don't want to force him into anything he isn't ready for.

Near silence permeates the air, the sound of his labored breathing and the slight sloshing of water in his shaking hands are the only sounds. After a long while, I rise from my chair, in search of something to keep myself occupied rather than staring at the SOLDIER across from me in fear of looking too desperate to listen.

The moment my back is turned and my hands are tracing the contours of a book on a nearby desk, he speaks, "I never…saw it coming."

I turn to look at him, but he has yet to so much as meet my gaze. I move to walk back toward him, but I hesitate, my foot suspended inches from the ground. He isn't really talking to me, but rather, to himself. All he needs is someone to listen. He has to talk this out.

His gaze roves over the table before him as he caresses the bandage on his arm with his free hand, as though trapped in a memory of what happened today, replaying it over and over again in his mind's eye. He clenches his fist, open and closed, as if he has never seen it before.

Just when I begin to think he isn't going to say anything at all, he speaks once more, "There were so many of them. I-I didn't know what to do."

Who did they send him after? Did they send him alone? He's only a Second Class, but it's possible that they would send him without Angeal or anyone to accompany him, especially with how many threats have been arising as of late. It's all we can do just to keep up with all of the missions we have already in line. Even the Department of Administrative Research is stretched thin. Requesting a vacation nowadays is becoming a death wish.

"I-I tried to protect them…I really did…" He finally looks up at me. Tears of pain and confusion welling up in his eyes. "You b-believe me, don't you?"

Oh, Zack. What happened to you today? This isn't the SOLDIER I once met. The one who spoke before thinking, was ready for action before knowing what the mission was. I no longer see a puppy in front of me tonight, but rather a war-torn boy shattered into disarray.

"Of course, I do," I reply, my lips sliding upward into what I can only hope is a reassuring smile. This has never been an area I've excelled at, though I suppose I'm better than the rest of the department. Reno would sling an arm around his shoulder and drag him to the nearest bar and Rude would probably just stare at him in silence for a long while before attempting to bestow on him some haphazard words of wisdom. I can't even imagine Tseng trying to be comforting; perhaps a few sharp words about having no regrets would come into play, which he would hope sounded consoling. It's probably best that if he had to choose a _Turk_ for comfort he came here. No wonder Reno let him in.

He tries to give me a small smile, but it still doesn't reach his troubled eyes. "At least someone does, because I don't."

My heart stops at the sound of his bitter laughter. Regardless of how well I know him, I never expected to see him so broken. He has always been the positive one in a world sullied with our own blood.

"Whatever happened Zack, you know that it isn't your fault," I say, one hand coming to rest on his shoulder. I expect him to jerk away, but he doesn't move. His body tremors beneath my hand as inescapable sobs shake his shoulders.

Even heroes cry.

I remove my hand from his shoulder just long enough for me to walk around the couch and sit beside him. One hand touches his shoulder and the other acts on instinct, running nervous fingers through his hair before pulling him closer to me. Tears stain my white blouse as he buries his head into the crook of my neck. Every muscle in my body tenses at the unexpected gesture. I feel so out of place.

Time creeps by in silence, neither of us having anything to say. As his sobs slow, he seems to grow heavier, his nose pressing into my neck and his weight threatening to crush me against the back of my own couch. I'm nervous for a moment, uncertain what to do. Then I realize that exhaustion born of battles and injuries has overtaken him.

I slide away from him, hands holding him up long enough for me to rest him on the couch, his head supported by a fuchsia throw pillow that takes residence on the cushions, courtesy of Tseng. My hands brush against the coarse black material of his pants as I reach down to heft his legs onto the couch. I pause for a moment. Should his boots be taken off? Would it wake him?

Deciding that I should remove them, I bend down and untie his boots and place them beside the coffee table. A low grunt comes from him as I heft his legs up onto the couch. He rolls over onto his stomach, his uninjured hand flopping onto the ground. Heading to the linen cabinet, I pull out a soft yellow blanket and cover the SOLDIER. His hand clings onto the edge of it, drawing it up to his cheek, feeling the fuzziness of it.

I sit down on the emerald-colored chair across the table from him, prepared to keep watch incase he the demons that haunt him terrorize his dreams. I pick up the book, I'd been fidgeting with earlier, deciding that reading a book is far less creepy than staring at him all night.

I don't get very far into it. Despite the numerous times I have been on night watch, my eyes grow heavy and exhaustion overtakes me. My own day had taken its toll on me.

* * *

My fingertips caress something fuzzy as I shift on the couch, my senses slowly waking up. A warm, familiar smell fills my senses…something that reminds me of home as a little girl.

The smell makes me smile, until my battle sense kicks in—regrettably later than a Turk's should. I give a start as I sit up on the couch, my eyes looking around my living quarters. My book sits on the coffee table and the chair I'd fallen asleep in is empty.

"Sorry, you looked uncomfortable in that chair." I jump at the sound of Zack's voice, his innocent, blue eyes meet mine. I suddenly remember what happen and look him over. He looks like the puppy once again.

I'm skeptical. I know everything looks better in the morning, but no one bounces back that quickly.

I sniff again. "Zack…did you make pancakes?"

He smiles and rubs the back of his neck shyly. "Yeah, I figured it was the least I could do for letting me crash here."

"I don't even have anything to cook with." Cooking is not one of my specialties. We have a cafeteria on site for a reason.

"Yeah, I called in a favor. Tseng let me borrow a few things."

I quirk an eyebrow at him. Who knew Tseng could cook? Or at least owned some utensils and ingredients.

He looks away. "Come on, let's eat while it's still hot."

I sit down at one of the stools by the counter as he set a plate of pancakes and eggs in front of me. "How are you doing, Zack?"

A shadow crosses his face. "I, uh, need to get the syrup." He crosses the kitchen to a grocery bag and removes the bottle.

He grabs his own plate of food and sits down beside me. I take the hint and decide to avoid the subject of what he's doing here for now. I pour some syrup on my pancakes and take a bite. My eyes widen in surprise, not expecting such cooking skills from the SOLDIER. "These are delicious, Zack!"

He blushes. "Thanks. Angeal's taught me a couple things. Don't ask for flan or anything anytime soon, but pancakes and eggs I can handle."

We eat in silence for a long while. It isn't an uncomfortable silence, though it is a little strange having a meal in my kitchen with him.

"Uh, sorry for just barging in here last night." He won't look at me. His fingers fidget with the edge of a napkin, tracing the corner as he folds it over, unfolds it, and folds it again.

"Don't worry about it. We all need a little help sometimes. Truth is I probably needed the company after yesterday."

"You had a rough day too?" Zack stops playing with the napkin, his hand hovering over it as he stares at me.

I wave a hand, trying to make it seem like less of a close call than it was. "Definitely. Stupid rookie mistake had me walking straight into a trap and getting out wasn't as easy as it should have been."

He nodded, averting his gaze just a little. "It happens to the best." There's a forced nonchalance in his voice that doesn't quite suit him.

I shrug. "Well, I should have been more prepared. Turks aren't supposed to make mistakes." Even as I say it, I know how naïve it sounds. Maybe I'm not as developed of a Turk as I want to believe.

Zack snorts and flashes a lopsided smile. "If only it worked that way." The mirth doesn't reach his eyes and I can see him rescinding back into his memories.

A long moment later, he says, "It was supposed to be simple. They had me lead some of the other SOLDIERS into a small village. The goal was to get a few crucial members of the village and their families out. The Wutai resistance force came earlier than our intel suggested."

I can almost see the demons dancing on his face as he stares down at his plate, looking at it, but not truly seeing it. I wait, not wanting to pressure him.

"We were surrounded. I tried to follow protocol, I really did." He's trying to convince himself more than me. I place a hand on his forearm, trying to reassure him.

He doesn't look my way as he continues, "But nothing worked. We…" He swallowed hard and his voice cracked. "lost some…some good SOLDIERS…women…a child…." He clears his throat, as though that will get rid of the sob he's withholding. His eyes dart away from mine, but I catch the glisten of a tear.

"Oh, Zack," I whisper. "I'm so sorry." I wrap my arms around him. Zack of all people shouldn't have to go through this. He's one of the brightest lights I know. The things this company makes people go through—the battles we've been forced to fight, people we've watched die, people we've…killed. All for the sake of Shinra.

His arm wraps around my shoulders, drawing me closer, giving him someone to lean on. His chin rests on my head as he sniffles. I know he's trying not to fall apart. I do not know what to say. There's nothing that can be said, really.

After a long while, he whispers, "Thank you, Cissnei."

It's then I realize: sometimes just being there is enough.

Each day we fight a battle—with ourselves, each other, this company. Every day we're here we have to make tough decisions and sometimes the outcomes of those choices are hard to face. The demons we bear will haunt our darkest days, reminding us of our mistakes and the decisions we regret. These are the days we have to stand together, for our own sake.


End file.
